


Entertainment

by hanwritessolo



Series: Something Spaces [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Birthday Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Halloween, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 00:15:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12494100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanwritessolo/pseuds/hanwritessolo
Summary: Can you distract Prompto's attention away from a video game? Probably yes—given the right equipment.





	Entertainment

Today is Prompto’s 33rd birthday, and you’re a bundle of nerves.

To be clear, it’s not because of the surprise birthday party that you and Gladio will be throwing later tonight. Despite living together with Prompto, that plan is well under the wraps, meticulously disguised as an after party for the Citadel’s first Halloween gala in years. What bothers you right to the bone is the costume you’re now wearing: a black-and-white maid ensemble that snugly fit the shape of your curves, revealing a generous portion of skin on your chest and shoulders, and falling gratuitously right above your thighs.

You should have known that Prompto wanted matching costumes to suit the occasion, but you did not expect he would choose a maid and butler tandem of all things. Social events such as this Halloween gala isn’t exactly up your introvert alley, and attending one in a maid costume is already far out of your comfort zone. Before you can even muster the right words to gently reject the idea, all he had to do is look at you with his absurdly charming blue eyes like a puppy begging for a treat, and you’re right back under his spell. After all, it’s his birthday, and you figured it would be best to indulge him—to deny Prompto this simple request is akin to kicking a chocobo chick in the butt.

As you give yourself another once-over in the mirror and adjusting the ties of your top, a gray ball of fluff that is your precious cat, Jesse Owens, lounges over the counter, his green eyes examining you with a long, bemused look.

“Don’t judge me, you feline.” You stare back at the cat, hoping he would offer you at least some sort of encouragement.

Jesse Owens only responds with a curt _meow_ before he scuttles away. You heave a deep sigh. Even your own cat thinks you look ridiculous.

Outside, you can hear a familiar background music coming from the living room. Judging by that and the sudden outburst of Prompto’s voice, you can only guess he’s probably doing another round of Mario Kart when he’s supposed to be getting ready.

Praying to the Astrals that you’re wrong, you step outside the bathroom and out toward the corridor. You bellow, “Prom, I swear if you’re still playing— _goddamit!"_

Turns out you're right. Obviously.

“Hi,” Prompto says without even giving you a sideway glance _at all_. His focus is fixed on the screen before him, his hands glued to the controller.

You stand a couple of meters away from him, hands on your hips, trying not to look annoyed but that glare in your eyes already says otherwise. “You’re not yet dressed.”

“Uh huh,” he automatically hums, still not giving you a time of day.

“We’re leaving in an hour.”

“Yup.”

“Prompto. Argentum.”

You enunciate every syllable of his name like a dying oath, all the while stepping in front of him to block his view from the screen. You were expecting that he’ll fight his way through to finish the stupid game, but you know you already got his full and undivided attention when he freezes, dragging his eyes from your thighs all the way to your face. The controller drops from his hands like he lost the sensation to feel.

“Will you get dressed or—”

“Hot damn baby, you look so… stunning.” His lingering gaze is enough to burn a hole right through your body. Prompto is looking at you like he’s falling head over heels again. You feel your face heat up with the energy of a million suns.

You start to divert the subject. “Thank you, but we don’t have time—”

“And not only that...” He trails off, slicing through your argument for the second time. “You look so _fucking_ hot.” Prompto’s hands begin to wander on your body, as if to check if you’re real; his touch navigates around your hips and down your back, reaching underneath your skirt, and finally, giving your ass a playful squeeze.

“Prom, now’s not—ah!” You yelp when he suddenly maneuvers you to his side and swiftly pins you down the couch. Now he’s on top of you and _what the hell just happened?_

“Methinks we still have time to spare.” He smirks, scrambling for the remote tucked somewhere in the couch and he powers off the TV. Now that his previous business has been taken care of, he begins to pepper your face with small kisses and you can’t help but laugh. “I promise to get dressed for the gala as soon as I’m done with you.”

“Is this the real reason why you bought this costume?” you ask in between fits of giggles. And wait, why is this funny? This isn’t supposed to be funny, Prompto’s supposed to get his ass ready—

The protest and logic dies somewhere at the tip of your tongue when he conquers your lips with his for one heck of a kiss.

Alas, for the nth time, Prompto wins you over with his beguiling charm and seriously, does he really have to be such an outrageously good kisser?

“Maybe yes, maybe no,” he answers teasingly both the hanging question you asked seconds ago and even the rhetorical one in your head when he finally pulls away. Prompto continues his trail of soft kisses from your neck down to the exposed part of your chest, until a soft yet distinct purring interrupts this heated session.

Prompto looks on his side and you turn your head on the same direction to see your cat sitting on the coffee table across the couch, watching the both of you with curious eyes.

“I didn’t know Jesse Owens is a voyeur,” Prompto quips.

“Let him be. He probably wants to know if you’ll give his human the best quickie of her life,” you reply nonchalantly.

The cat purrs again.

Prompto laughs, extremely amused. “Wait a sec, did he just agree—”

You impatiently pull Prompto’s face to meet yours. “Yes, so if I were you, just finish what you started already—”

“As awkward as this is, I guess the cat leaves me no choice." He impishly grins. “Guess we’ll have to put on a good show.”

Without wasting another breath, Prompto takes your mouth with his own for the second time, and you give him enough space to slip his tongue against yours. His hand slides down, slipping under the fabric of your underwear. By now, he knows every crevice of your body down to a neat science; inside lies a perfect spot he knows so well, and he pushes a finger, and then another, and he puts it to work with a series of twists and curls that ultimately earns him that sweet sight of your back arching into pleasure.

Your hands grasp for a tuft of his hair, breaking away from the mind-searing kiss. “Prom, _ahh—_ take it easy—”

Your pleas fall on deaf ears. His hand may be busy making a beautiful mess between your legs, but he uses the other to quickly untie the latches of your maid uniform to reveal the ripeness of your breasts. Altogether, he savours a nipple with his mouth, sucking and licking, while his remaining free hand settles to play with the other, massaging it between his fingers.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can still see Jesse Owens watching intently, but that doesn't matter any longer. You’re reaching your peak, and Prompto knows this. But he doesn’t stop feasting on every fragment and space of your body. His fingers are still hard at work, pushing in violent strokes that your own fingers seek purchase on his arms, digging crescent-shaped marks on his skin as he lets you come with just his hands.

After a good dose of writhing seconds, you beg, “Prom, I need you inside me.”

As if to tease you, he pauses briefly as he pulls away, silently revelling on this vulnerable state you’re in that he just made with his bare hands. “You look so beautiful like this, baby girl.”

“Please, Prom—”

He eyes the cat still loafing on the table and it meows right back at him, and he cheekily teases, “I think Jesse Owens seems to agree—”

You roll your eyes in exasperation. “Baby, I love you but if you don’t put it in right this instant I will claw your eyes out!”

Prompto laughs at your impatience. “You’re adorable when you get feisty.”

He unzips his pants to reveal his already hardened cock, and all at once, he tugs aside the fabric of your panties and pushes his length inside you, inch by pleasurable inch. He takes both of your thighs, pummelling his hips rapidly in a gratifying rhythm.

 _“Ahh,_ Prom _—_ harder, harder _—shit!”_

Prompto didn't need to be told twice. He graciously takes the speed to an intense crescendo, the both of you exchanging trembling grunts and whimpers because _gods_ he’s fucking you brainless and you’re screaming his name over and over.

He buries his face on the crook of your neck, whispering in your ear as his hips hammer harder and faster. “I can never get enough of your pussy, baby—”

You only manage a helpless whine at this point; your words were lost in this ocean of pleasure and you only have the strength to rake your hands through his hair as he rams you on and on until both of you reach a mind-blowing climax.

You’re a heaving, breathless mess. Prompto crashes on top of you and he slightly readjusts to your side, nestling his head on your shoulder so as not to squish you under his weight.

“Well, happy birthday to you,” you say in between uneven breaths and bursts of laughter.

“Happy birthday to me, indeed.” You feel him smile and giggle against your skin. He threads his hands with yours and pulls it against his lips. “Can I just say—best birthday sex  _ever.”_

The both of you would have basked in this intimate silence, but Jesse Owens purrs to chime in the moment. Again.

You and Prompto turn your heads to glance at the coffee table, and true enough, your beloved feline sits there unmoving, still watching and judging.

“I can’t believe he witnessed all of _that,”_ you comment in equal parts surprise and disbelief.

The cat meows before it scurries off the table, and Prompto only laughs. “My inner cat whisperer says Jesse Owens thinks that I did a _paw-_ some job.”

“Oh gods, Prom.” You flick him a mischievous look. “Are you _purr-_ real?”

The both of you burst in a shock of laughter. You’re so close to forgetting, but seeing Jesse Owens let you remember the original order of business. “So now that you're done  _doing_ me, how about you finally get dressed while I get cleaned up?”

He looks up at you with his annoyingly adorable eyes. “Sure,” he answers, but that smirk on his face says he’s got another thing up his sleeve. “Then I suppose you wouldn't mind taking a shower with me.”

“Wait, what—”

You didn’t even get to say anything when Prompto drags you out of the couch with him, and at that moment, you’re already busy formulating an excuse to offer his friends. You know that the both of you won’t be arriving at the gala anytime soon.

 


End file.
